Survive or Die

by Catherine Dilts

  If Aubrey went home, she would leave her husband at camp with her shampoo model nemesis. While she wanted to believe she could trust Grant, she had been foolish enough to believe that he was taking her on a romantic getaway, not to a work-related event.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” Grant asked.

  “I have to think about it.”

  When Aubrey stomped back toward Madison, Omari Olufemi touched her sleeve.

  “Aubrey, is everything okay?” he asked in his mild British accent. Concern creased lines between his eyes while the midday sun glinted off his shaved scalp.

  “I was that obvious?”

  “None of this is turning out the way we expected.” He paused, as though searching for the right words. “Althea anticipated spending time with me, away from family and our congregation. This camp would not have been her first choice. And after Stewart’s shocking death, the comforts and safety of the city might prove too great to resist.”

  “That’s the problem,” Aubrey said. “You told your wife where you were going. Grant surprised me. No, more than that, he misled me.”

  “Not for any malicious reason. Grant is as anxious as any to keep his job.”

  The way Omari measured his words made sense considering he was a part-time pastor. He had the clear-eyed look of a man focused on a Higher Power. Which had to make his employment by a dirt bag like Bender problematic.

  “Is he so intent on staying at Bender Clips that he’d sacrifice his marriage?” Aubrey hadn’t meant her words to be so sharp. She took a breath, calming herself. “I’m sorry. Grant acts like he has no options, and that scares me. I’ve heard you’re planning a second career.”

  “We are slowly growing our church, but I am many years away from leaving my career. Althea came to lend me support. Spending time in the great outdoors was not high on her list, but she knew how important this was to me.”

  The Stand By Your Man speech was getting a little irritating.

  “My wife plans to stay with Nel until her family arrives,” he continued. “I truly hope she returns tomorrow. I am certain Nel will not be back.”

  Omari and Grant weren’t the only people to bring a spouse to camp. Nel left with hers in a body bag.

  Aubrey might not be cut out for the level of self-sacrifice demonstrated by a pastor’s wife, but she didn’t want to end up a bitter shrew like Nel, either. The camp was dangerous. Stewart’s death had proved that. Aubrey circled back to Grant’s team. They broke off from their huddle as she approached. They didn’t need to worry about her stealing their game plan. She had no delusions about winning. At this point, she was just hoping her marriage would survive.

  “Grant, I’ll stay.”

  He had the good sense to look relieved.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sotheara endured the embarrassment of being passed over, containing tears by blinking rapidly. Madison, Berdie, Aubrey and she had not really been a team for the first challenge. They had just happened to cross the river at the same time. Considering how things went, it was no surprise no one wanted the others on their teams, but Sotheara had performed well. It wasn’t fair.

  “Now that you’re Buckaroo Crews,” Rowdy said, “you need to look like teams. Bud and Chance will hand out the official Survive or Die T-shirts.”

  The cardboard boxes looked like they had been stored in a barn. Telltale holes indicated that mice had nested in them. Nothing scurried out, so the wranglers must have evicted any residents before toting the boxes to the fire circle.

  “Next, you’ll name your Buckaroo Crew,” Rowdy drawled. “If you can’t think up a good one, feel free to use one of the team names from my television show.”

  Judging from the logo displayed across the front, Sotheara was pretty sure her team’s ugly mustard yellow shirts had been in storage since season three of the Survive or Die program.

  “Rowdy!” White-haired Lavelle held out a brown shirt, the collar pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “These nasty old shirts need to be washed.”

  Aubrey accepted her shirt from Wrangler Bud. She made the mistake of shaking it, creating a cloud of dust. She hoped she hadn’t just exposed herself to hantavirus.

  “Ick.” Madison held her hands up to ward off the shirt from Chance. “I’m not wearing anyone’s used shirt.”

  Rowdy thrust his thumbs inside his tooled Western belt and strolled toward the outcasts.

  “This is the only color shirt in sizes for big folks.” He smirked at Madison. “I told you, on the TV show we screened people to make sure they were in good enough shape for the challenges. Didn’t want anyone keeling over from a heart attack.”

  Berdie scowled at Rowdy, her hand moving to the hilt of the enormous knife strapped to her belt, but the gesture was wasted. Rowdy was already walking away. Rankin held the largest shirt up to his chest. It was going to be a snug fit, but Aubrey had noticed the man wore his shirts tight to display his muscled physique, possibly his only asset.

  Grant’s team had been gifted with matching chartreuse T-shirts with the Survive or Die logo from a more recent season of the television show. Veronica pulled hers over her tank top. It was a couple sizes too small, showing off her large bosom and wasp-like waist.

  Madison wadded up her shirt. “I refuse to wear this until it’s gone through the washer.”

  “Use cold water.” Rankin tried to hand his shirt to Madison. “If mine shrinks, I won’t be able to wear it.”

  “Did I offer to do your laundry?” Madison asked.

  Rankin’s pale skin flushed pink. Aubrey wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. After distributing the T-shirts, Rowdy gathered the campers around the campfire circle.

  “Have you all picked Buckaroo Crew names?”

  “Yes,” Shirley said. “We’re the Belle Starrs.”

  Aubrey thought naming their team after a homely female outlaw showed a lack of historical awareness, but they seemed pleased. Jack announced his team was Bender’s Defenders, and Aubrey guessed there had been no discussion allowed. Grant’s team called themselves Wapiti, one of the Native American names for elk. In a bit of dark humor, the factory floor workers proclaimed themselves Gold Strike. Ted’s team called themselves the Wild Cats.

  The women huddling in Rankin’s shadow had come to no conclusion. Berdie spoke.

  “We’re Stockton’s Revenge.”

  “After Mad Stockton?” Rowdy asked. “The Cannibal of Carver Pass?” Berdie ignored him, so Rowdy shrugged and continued. “Bud, give us the tally.”

  Bud scribbled the team names and rosters on the dry erase board in surprisingly neat handwriting.

  Buckaroo Crews

  Wild Cats – 1 key

  Ted, Kimberly, Yuri, Larry, Belinda, Gwen, Justin, Lani

  Bender’s Defenders – 1 key

  Doug, Jack, Candace, Warren, Mason, Roberto, Irena, Nigel

  Wapiti – 1 key

  Frank, Grant, Omari, Arianna, Luis, Sam, Veronica, Damon, Habika, (Althea)

  Belle Stars – 1 key

  Jessie, Shirley, Yvette, Kenzie, Shawn, Della, Edna, Felicia, Maggie, Pam

  Gold Strike – 1 key

  Ellen, Tweet, Lavelle, Fawn, Harv, Jeremiah, Ziggy, Kyle, Naila, Alex

  Stockton’s Revenge – 1 key

  Rankin, Berdie, Madison, Sotheara, Aubrey

  “The second Survive or Die challenge is target shooting with a bow and arrow,” Rowdy said. “The team members of the winning Buckaroo Crew each get a treasure chest key, and besides the key, they also get to move to the cabin of their choice.”

  “We’re already in cabins.” Lavelle clutched her pale blue vinyl purse to her side as she stood. A straw sunbonnet covered her short white curls. “I’m in Otter Creek, and I like it fine.”

  “The cabins aren’t all the same,” Jeremiah Jones said. “Some h
ave indoor plumbing. Folks in Chipmunk and Hummingbird have to use the bathhouse.”

  Each cabin had a unique look. Some were downright shabby, while others looked like ski chalet knock-offs. Otter Creek was somewhere in between. Aubrey didn’t care for the lumpy mattress and shared restroom, but apparently there were worse options.

  “What if we like the cabin we’re in?” Lavelle asked.

  “You’re part of a Buckaroo Crew now,” Rowdy said. “If you’re all mixed up, how will you keep your strategy secret?”

  Half the crowd groaned, and the other half lit up with the thought of upgrading their accommodations.

  At first, Aubrey relished the possibility of having a room with a private bath, not that her team stood a chance of winning. Then another thought occurred to her. Teams would be sharing cabins. She and Grant were not on the same team. He would be shacking up with Veronica.

  Sotheara watched Berdie aim and release her arrow. It whooshed through the air, then impaled the side of a plastic deer with a thwack! Then the next. And another. Berdie didn’t pierce the heart-shaped center of the target on the deer’s side, but all her arrows hit tragically close.

  “How hard can it be?” Madison whispered to Aubrey. “I mean, if an elderly receptionist can hit the target? Right?”

  Aubrey stepped up next, pulled the string back, and released the arrow. It almost hit the target. The rest of her arrows landed in the grass and weeds. Madison had the strength to draw the bow, but her first arrow arced high and to the left, nearly hitting Bud, who was retrieving arrows. A stream of old-fashioned curses erupted from the creepy old wrangler’s lips.

  “Wait until I give the all clear,” Rowdy said. “We don’t need to lose anyone else.”

  His casual reference to Stewart silenced most of the chatter. After Rowdy yelled “clear,” Madison aimed. Sotheara shuddered as the arrow hit very close to the deer’s heart.

  At the station next to theirs, people cheered when Candace hit two bull’s eyes. Veronica blamed the cheap bow, warped arrows, the wind, and the angle of the sun for her poor performance. With Stockton’s Revenge in third place, Sotheara was up next.

  “I can’t shoot.” She pushed her palms out, refusing to accept the bow Rankin tried to give her. “Even if it is a plastic deer, it’s like practicing to murder a real animal. Besides, weapons go against all my beliefs.”

  “But our team is doing great,” Madison said. “You’ve got to try. These are just for sport. They’re not weapons of war.”

  Sotheara closed her eyes and shook her head. Every arrow slamming into a plastic deer sent shivers crawling up her spine as she imagined the agony of real deer being slaughtered.

  “Rowdy,” Berdie called. “We’ve got a problem over here.”

  Rowdy ambled their way, his battered black cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.

  “What’s up?”

  “Sotheara doesn’t want to shoot,” Madison said.

  “I’ll just sit out this challenge,” she said.

  “Then I’ll have to deduct three points from your team score,” Rowdy said.

  “That’s not fair,” Sotheara said. “This is an ideological issue.”

  Escalating their complaint to Bender didn’t work. There was at least one person on every team who couldn’t hit the target. No one wanted to grant Sotheara mercy when it might hurt their own team. With Sotheara’s penalty, they plummeted to fifth place.

  Rankin was up last. Berdie patted him on the back.

  “With all those muscles,” the tiny receptionist said, “I’m sure you’ll pull up the score.”

  Rankin drew the string back, bending the bow at a severe arc. He released the arrow. It soared over the target. He tried again, and missed. When his final arrow went wild, Rankin threw the bow to the ground. He reached inside his black shirt and pulled out a handgun. Taking quick aim, he fired off three shots, each a bull’s eye.

  Sotheara wasn’t the only person to scream. She thought her heart would burst from the shock. At the very least her eardrums, as the explosive sound echoed through the meadow. Every camper and wrangler froze, staring at the oversized redhead. She didn’t know what she expected. Maybe a citizen’s arrest? Someone tackling Rankin and slapping on handcuffs?

  Rowdy squinted at the target, then looked up at Rankin. “That was some impressive shootin’, Mr. MacRae. But I’m afraid it won’t count. You were supposed to hit the bull’s eye with arrows, not bullets.”

  Stockton’s Revenge dropped to last place.

  “I’m going to pack,” Berdie said. “After that performance, I’m sure I’ll be evicted from Brown Bear cabin.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sotheara said. “I just couldn’t do it.”

  She glared up at Rankin, expecting contrition several levels above her own.

  Rankin didn’t apologize for his performance. He just reloaded his gun.

  Jeremiah eased his hand away from his back. No one had noticed him going for the .40 S&W concealed inside his waistband. They were all too busy gawking at Rankin, zombie expressions on their dull faces. If Rankin had gone berserk, they would have stood in line waiting to be shot.

  Ellen punched Jeremiah’s shoulder lightly. “Good job! You’re great with a bow and arrow.”

  He was still struggling with the realization that she’d fallen off his potential bride list. Not that he had a problem with the factory crew chief liking women. That he understood. He liked women, too. Still, he was disappointed. Ellen would have made an able end times partner. Strong. Not terribly bright, but intelligent enough to negotiate the shark-filled waters of Bender Clips to her low-level management position. If she listened to Jeremiah, their team might have a rat’s chance.

  Jeremiah’s team circled him like he was a football star who’d scored the winning touchdown. They hadn’t gained a treasure chest key, but they weren’t last, either. Jeremiah figured he might as well savor the moment. When push came to shove, they’d be clamoring to see who got to eat his brain.

  “Do we get to move?” Fawn asked.

  The dumpy hippie broad hung on Tweet’s arm, staking her claim. Jeremiah guessed she was plenty old enough to be the stoned-out kid’s mother. If that’s what marijuana did to you, Jeremiah wanted no part of it.

  “I want to stay in Otter Creek,” Lavelle said. “Don’t tell me I got to pack up all my stuff after I just got settled in.”

  “We did well,” Ellen said, “but not well enough to grab Otter Creek. Most of us are in Chipmunk cabin. We might as well stay put. Lavelle, I’ll help you move.”

  Aubrey tossed her suitcases on the bed and shoved her shoes and clothes inside. Any pride she had felt for her husband’s performance was overwhelmed by being evicted from Otter Creek. When her cell phone chimed, she glanced at caller ID. Her son Shane was calling, for the second time that day.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Well gee,” Shane said. “I thought you’d like to know that Grandpa Sommers is taking us to the firing range. I’m just letting you know ahead of time so you won’t be too shocked when you get the call from the emergency room. Or the morgue.”

  “Your grandfather is an expert marksman. He’s big on safety. No one will get hurt.”

  “I told the Colonel I’d rather stay in the rec room and play video games, but he says we all have to go. And I don’t know, Mom, but Junie is still mad about being grounded and not going to that party, and it might be, you know, that cranky time of the month.”

  Fifteen-year-old Junie was mostly blustering drama, but the thought of her volatile daughter with a loaded gun in her hand did cause Aubrey concern.

  “Let me talk to your grandfather.”

  “He’s in the bunker loading up the ammo.”

  “Grant!” Aubrey yelled, even though her husband was in the same tiny room. “I’m packing. You’ll have to handle this.” She shoved the cell
phone at Grant.

  “Shane? What’s the problem?”

  There was a pause while Shane aired his complaints to his father.

  “That sounds fun,” Grant finally said. “Do I hear Cody? Let me talk to him. Hey, don’t call your little brother a dweeb.”

  There was another long pause filled only with “uh huh” and “okay.” Aubrey grabbed her toiletry bag off the dresser, jammed it in a suitcase, then jerked the zipper closed.

  “Hey guys, I’ve got to help your mother. Say hi to Junie for me.”

  Grant hung up. Aubrey lifted one suitcase.

  “I’m ready.”

  She half expected Grant to protest that he would not let her leave, even if they were on opposing teams. Instead, he grabbed the handle of her second suitcase and opened the door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Nobody’s supposed to go in my room,” Jeremiah said. “You’ll be safe if you observe the normal boundaries of human courtesy.”

  Fawn huffed with phony indignation. She’d taken a dislike to Jeremiah since the day he started work at Bender Clips, mostly because he’d ignored her coming on to him. Fawn had wide hips, which Jeremiah appreciated, but she also had a surly attitude, and was past her prime child-bearing years. Jeremiah had no time to engage in pointless dalliances. He was searching for a wife.

  “I refuse to stay in a cabin with a gun,” Fawn repeated.

  Ellen held her hands up. “I need both of you on my team.”

  That was a statement of possession if Jeremiah ever heard one. Her team. Just like at work. Her crew.

  “The solution’s easy enough,” Jeremiah said. “If Fawn stays out of my room, everything’ll be copacetic.”

  “Careful,” Fawn said. “You might trip over a three syllable word and hurt yourself.”

  “It’s four. But don’t hurt yourself trying to do basic math.”

  “Hey, guys,” Ellen said. “Come on. There’s a lot at stake here.”